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Pyramids byTerry Pratchett While
reading a Pratchett I usually feel that I’m part of a group of people enjoying
an in-joke. In the case of this book however, I constantly felt I was missing
the joke. At the
start of the read I kept waiting for something to happen. While I got a lovely
insight into how the Assassins’ Guild is run and conducts its final
examination, I was left rather baffled as to where all this was leading. The
first 250 pages seem steeped in great sadness. I could not shake this feeling,
especially when reading sections about High Priest Dios as he desperately
clings on to power through the manipulation of time and aging.

I came
away from the remainder of the hero’s wanderings through the desert and other
dimensions parched and in desperate need of a waterhole. I struggled to finish
this one. Overall I was left feeling hollow, like one of those doughnuts with
the hole in the middle. So I’m very glad I’ve got Guards! Guards! to move on to
as I’ve been told it’s epic.

The
murder of the King of Lancre is the opening for this Pratchett offering and
sets the scene for the tyranny and intrigue to follow. Pratchett playfully refigures the plot of
Macbeth to give us the story of how a country ruled by a tyrant chooses to
rebel. It’s not pretty, with the usual majority blaming whomever the ‘media’
decides is to blame. And for this particular scenario, the witches come under
the cosh. Naturally
the witches are forced to fight back in the manner which only a Pratchett
creation can. As usual, he is able to highlight the flaws in society and how
people turn on each other at the slightest provocation. The book also focuses
on feelings of frustration due to powerlessness in a given situation. How well
I know that particular emotion. The
book also emphasises how words can have a power which we dismiss too easily.
But that very power affects more than one person and has a terrifying domino
effect. I was amused by the segments showin…

I grew
up listening to Rock & Roll, Soul and Rhythm & Blues with a hefty dose
of Disco and Easy Listening thrown in for good measure. Saturday and Sunday
afternoons our house was often full of the strains of Elvis, Nat King Cole, The
Blue Notes etc. Every once in a while furniture was pushed against the wall and
we danced. I
never sang. My dad was the singer, with a voice to equal that of a choir of
angels. My mother sang off key and so did I. Many years ago I was told I’m tone
deaf. This put me off singing completely, unless of course I’m totally alone, singing in the car or in the bath. I’m an occasional hummer and a mouther
of words but no actual sound makes it out from between my lips. So I grew
up with the firm belief music, for me, was restricted to one thing and one
thing only – DANCING. I
didn’t come to classical music till quite late in my life. It wasn’t till I
started competitive ice skating around age 12 that I got my first taste of
mainly instrumental music. I had a …

Sourcery by Terry Pratchett You
may remember that earlier this year I decided on the insane challenge to read every
single Pratchett ever written. To ease myself into the task I’ve started with
the Disc World series and am currently on book 6. That obviously means I’ve finished book 5 so
here’s my review of it.

This
latest Terry Pratchett instalment finds us back with the hopeless wizard
Rincewind. And of course, The Luggage makes a welcome return too. I confess I’m
very fond of this particular travel accessory in the Disc World series and am
always keen to know where it will shift its loyalty to next. I was not
disappointed as it fell in love with the delectable Conina and then suffered
greatly when she spurned it. The
plot revolves around the fact that the 8th son of a wizard is in
fact a sourcerer. A particular wizard, not keen to submit to the rules of
Death, decides to use the fact he has an 8th son to his advantage.
And so the mayhem ensues. The
Disc world and the library of Unsee…

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Ex South African, 1967
vintage. Living and working in the UK since 1987. Resigned from teaching in July 2007 to pursue a life of metaphoric garret living. I contracted a love of reading in the womb and the writing bug from my maternal grandfather. Currently working with Lewisham Young Women's Project (a charity for young women) and Inkhead (creating the writers of the future).

I write about the good and bad angels we have sitting on each shoulder, about the strange creatures lurking at the periphery, about life and about death.